


He Begged You to Remember

by Nakimochiku



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nakimochiku/pseuds/Nakimochiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know you're still caught in his teeth." Will Graham deals with the aftermath of Hannibal's betrayal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Begged You to Remember

_i_

Sometimes you imagine him at the uppermost level of your lecture hall, looking dapper as always, mouth twisted in a secretive half smile. You always wondered about that, before. His mouth, so thin and shapely and unique, should be more expressive. It isn’t. You couldn’t ever read him. You stare at the top most corner and talk and talk, while your students watch you watching him; or the ghost of him. Some even turn around to see what you’re staring at.

When they find nothing they chalk it up to another of your quirks.

_ii_

It occurs to you that you need closure. He gutted you like a fish, told you this wasn’t how he wanted it to be, and then he was gone. You didn’t get to ask him how, or when, or why. You didn’t get to ask him anything. You want to scream at him until your throat tears. You want to throttle him, smash his head back against bricks. You want to hate him.

But you can’t. He was your friend.

_iii_

You know he’s gone and that they’ll likely never catch him. You think he might have gone to France, somewhere rustic with a great farmers market; or Italy, warm and rich and tasteful. You imagine him in sunglasses and his suit, just the waistcoat, with his sleeves rolled up. You imagine freckles over his nose from being in the sun too long. You imagine a light sheen of sweat on his cheeks as he cooks in a kitchen so dissimilar to his old one.

He has a contingency plan for his contingency plans. You know he’s far away.

_iv_

The FBI tells you he left you a gift. They can’t give it to you. Evidence, Jack Crawford explains. You tell him to get out of your house, get out of your life. You don’t tell him this, all of this, is his damn fault. But he knows. He leaves you a photograph of a bottle of aftershave. Hardly the type of thing with a ship on it. A note beside the bottle says I promised didn’t I?

You tear the picture up. You hear the crunch of Jack Crawford’s wheels as he drives away. You scream.

_v_

You awake every so often in the wee hours. The stag is long gone from your dreams, and you hate that it leaves you bereft, bitter.  The telephone rings, and you pick it up with a croak in your voice. The voice that answers is soft, calm, cultured, static filled. I just wanted to hear if you were well. And before you can reply the dial tone sounds. You put down the receiver, roll over in bed and close your eyes. You don’t think too long on the voice. You dream about the stag.

In the morning you’re convinced it didn’t happen. Just another episode.

_vi_

 You become a vegetarian. You can’t handle the look of meat, the taste of it in your mouth. You think of all the meals he brought you, all the times he took care of you when he doubted you could even take care of yourself. You think of him spooning feeding you that one time you broke both your hands in a fall. You wonder how much of it was human, how much of it wasn’t. You wonder on your own sins, rather than his.

Every so often while wandering through a book store, you spy a cook book and wonder if he would have liked it.

_vii_

Sometimes you think about what he’d say if he saw you now. You’re little better than a hermit. You go to work, you come home. You lay awake in bed for hours absently patting the head of whatever dog is nearest and neediest. When you eventually fall asleep, your nightmares are filled with cockroaches, ravens, maggots squirming under your skin. He would tell you to think clearly, to dismiss these dreams as illusions, as your subconscious rebelling against abuse. He would look into your face and wait till you meet his eyes.

You wonder if you didn’t actually die that day. You did. He carved your heart out and took it with him.

_viii_

He branded himself on you. Just by doing what he did. The scar wasn’t enough, but it still throbs sometimes as though he’s nearby, as though his deep serene eyes are fixed on you. He looked serene even when the knife sunk into you and blood gushed out. He looked serene even when he brought his fingers to his lips to taste you. He is a rare animal, and you had the distinct honor of being the only prey he ever wanted to take his time with. Marinate.

 Now you are marked, and you wait patiently for the day he’ll come back and finish the job.

_ix_

Years later you are in Chicago for a conference. Your eyes are half lidded and heavy, and you press against the wall of the subway to stay standing. Life teems around you, and once, maybe, you would have thought of them as prey while you’re in this mind set. You look up and see the back of a lightly greyed head, a cashmere scarf and a fashionable pea coat. You lurch forward, shove people roughly out of the way, as he starts to climb onto the train, allows a woman with a stroller to get on ahead of him. Your stomach flips, it’s him. It must be him. By the time you get to the car he’s on, the doors are closing. His face is turned from you, but you think you see the sharp line of his nose, the distinct curl of his lips.

You turn away and hate yourself for needing to see him.

_x_

You think of him whenever it rains. In movies, when terrible things happen, it rains. Not so when he attacked you. You think of him because the rain is a light, assured patter, or a heavy handed wailing. It’s peaceful, the way he is peaceful. During a thunderstorm, you think that if you are fickle, flashing lightening, he is the following roll of thunder, commanding and awe inspiring. He moves at his own pace, and when he does he snaps you up in his jaws. You know you’re still caught in his teeth.

He begged you to remember. You try with every ounce of yourself to forget.


End file.
